For the Ones We Love
by BlackWindButterfly
Summary: A gravely ill Prussia leads Austria to make a desperate and dire exchange with an arcane force, an exchange that will leave Prussia alone in his regret. Threeshot.
1. Chapter 1

The noise rang through the whole house, bouncing back to his ears in an echo. Had he been outside, he might have seen the whole world freeze as the piano screamed. Wicked tendrils shot up, the sinister green aura that had been around the piano reforming. The tendrils snaked around Roderich, forcing a majority of his muscles to tense. His fingers branched out, stretching, no longer touching the sleek ivory keys of the piano. The tendrils fogged his vision, a head splitting strain on his eyes following as the magic entered him. He gagged and choked on the substance as it dried his throat. Closing his eyes, he winced as though that might ease his pain.

It had been a gift, the piano. His old one had been worn and in need of replacing. One too many pranks had finally taken its toll on the beautiful piece and Roderich had been in need of a new one. A friend of his, a certain island nation with an affinity for magic, had offered him the one that had rested in his sitting room. The instrument had gone untouched for years after said nation had given up on playing the piano. He had presented it with a warning though that unused magic may linger in it as his house was saturated by all the spells he had cast over the years.

Not having heeded the warning as much as he probably should have, Roderich took the offer on the grounds that the instrument had been well taken care of and sounded as wonderful as its predecessor. After it had been moved into his home, he was reminded once more of the magic properties that it may have possessed.

"Magic comes with a price, Roderich. I doubt that anything will actually happen with this piano, but remember that the more powerful the spell, the more the toll will be on the caster," Arthur had told the Austrian in warning.

At the current moment, Roderich refused to even think about the consequence that would follow if he managed to tap into the once dormant magic. It seemed to boil beneath his skin, bringing him to life while seeming to kill him simultaneously. No one had ever expressed how painful magic was when one chooses to use it. Then again, perhaps it could be because he had never grown accustomed to the arcane or because he had not practiced at a younger age. Roderich knew that he had to bare it though and harness what he could so that he could achieve his goal. He would do whatever it took to save Gilbert. He was willing to pay the price.

Years had passed since Gilbert had lost his status as a nation avatar. It was hard to call him human as he had yet to age or vanish, but many people believed it to be soon coming. He no longer needed to serve as East Germany even though his brother attempted to give him some purpose by allowing him to help when multiple problems arose at once. The one person who seemed least willing to accept it had been the albino, himself. He built himself up to be the great and powerful nation he had always been, repressing the very idea that he was anything less than such. Roderich thought him a fool for having gone on with the charade. At one point though, Gilbert had to have accepted that he no longer held the status of a nation otherwise time would not have been able to age him and make him ill.

He must have made peace with it and Roderich could only curse himself for not having realized it as Gilbert had. All of the signs had been there…

Weeks ago, Roderich noticed the cough. It had started out slight, one that someone might have when there was a small tickle in the back of their throat, a meager cold. Neither of them ever brought it up, but one of them knew that the Prussian had begun his final few days. Gilbert had gone out of his way to see Roderich for almost all of them. They bickered as often as they always had, but there were hidden and more affectionate tones in between those arguments, the ones from Gilbert heavily suggesting that he loved the other deeply. Perhaps he had not trusted Roderich with the truth or he wanted to spare him the anguish that would come with the hidden knowledge.

There seemed no need to worry until shortly after the cough had started. It had grown more aggressive, the sound harsh. Gilbert took more and more time to recover after each fit, many of which he finished panting as though he had just run five kilometers. Phlegm dotted each cough. His lungs must have been drowning in it. Roderich had expressed his concern over the cough. Surely nothing so trivial would stop the mighty Prussia, but it was clear that he had been mistaken.

Phlegm began to run red with blood yet still Gilbert managed to smile and carry on how he always had. Worry drove Roderich insane as he attempted to force him to lie down and rest. If Gilbert pushed his body, it would fail him. The pianist had been right about that much, but oh how he wished for once that he had been wrong and Gilbert correct.

Today had been like all the other days before it. The Prussian had stayed the night before, joining Roderich in his bed. He had been busy dressing when out of the corner of his eye, he watched Gilbert flex his fingers, staring at them in odd fascination. It never occurred to him to have been worried. Roderich was spending the day at home, enjoying a day off with Gilbert.

"You know… I don't think I've ever seen you cry," Gilbert had mused at the kitchen table as he watched Roderich fix himself a cup of coffee.

The Austrian had knit his brows together. "Please make more sense if you would," he replied before sipping from his mug. It scalded his tongue but he ignored it, knowing that he needed the drink to really think properly at such an early hour.

Chin resting in the palm of his hand, Gilbert mumbled, "Well, when I had to leave and the wall went up… you didn't seem all too upset, Priss."

His eyes widened, glasses sliding down his nose as if he were appalled by the accusation, which he had been. He frowned. "Gilbert, I had problems here in my own country," he tried, searching for an excuse. However, they both knew that was what had occurred, and that had been the issue. He faltered then. "You know I missed you, _Su__sser_," he breathed.

The albino nodded. Roderich had yet to notice the less affectionate nickname that had been thrown at him first. Gilbert hoped he would, if only that would have put more distance between them. "Yeah," he agreed. "We both know you bottle everything up anyway."

"Gilbert, what is this about?"

"Nothing, just go back to your coffee, Specs."

Something was wrong, horribly wrong. It was the only explanation, but Roderich never pushed Gilbert to tell him. There was a reason that Gilbert had brushed the question off, but the musician had no way of knowing that the Prussian was hiding his impending doom.

His house had been utterly silent, devoid of all noise aside from the few sounds Roderich made while he sipped at his coffee and ate. Gilbert had declined breakfast in favor of watching him. The staring did not unnerve him, it was the muteness that did. He loathed silence when it was present in his home despite how often he seemed to throw a fit about the boisterous presence of the other.

Seeking refuge from the soundlessness, he retreated to his music room after breakfast. Roderich sat himself down at the bench, poising himself as he thought of what piece he would start with. He listened as Gilbert shuffled into the doorway. The Prussian always had loved listening to him play, even if listening required him to hide out of sight.

Fingers finally gracing the keys, Roderich began to play. Gilbert swayed in the doorway as he listened to the haunting tune. He watched those graceful fingers as they pressed against the keys. Upon taking a few steps to see if he might be able to sit down beside Roderich, he felt his chest tighten. It was a small discomfort at first, but no sooner had he tried to massage his chest to ease it then he dropped to the ground. In what seemed like a distant world, he heard a familiar voice call his name as the piano stopped. Someone had rushed over to his side.

"Gilbert," Roderich called again. He set a hand to his neck, checking for a pulse. His finger tips felt nothing beneath them but smooth skin. "Gilbert!" His voice squeaked, strained in panic. Setting both hands to the other's chest, he started compressions to see if he might be able to bring him back. After the appropriate amount, he carefully tilted his head back, lifting his chin as he pinched Gilbert's nose. Inhaling, he covered the other's mouth with his own before blowing in, clenching his eyes shut. He did it twice before starting again with the compressions. "Dammit, Gilbert," he shouted.

He must have gone on for thirty minutes before he finally stopped, having run himself ragged. Roderich panted, pleading with the Prussian one last time, "Gilbert please..." The body had gone cold and the skin had lost all signs of life. It was too late.

His fingers curled into Gilbert's T-shirt as he hung his head and his eyes stung as he did his best to hold back tears. He could not mourn yet. Someone had to alert Gilbert's brother. Pulling out his cell phone, he searched through his contacts for the number in order to make the call.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a dim glow emanate from the piano. Shocked, Roderich let the phone fall from his fingers. The clatter of it against the ground snapped him out of his trance and he scooped it up, eyes never leaving the instrument. While he knew very little about magic, he knew that it was essentially limitless. Gilbert had been dead only a few minutes surely he could bring him back.

Roderich stormed the piano then. He nearly threw himself down on the bench before slamming his fingers down onto the keys, playing the note that started all of his current physical agony. There was a determined glint in his violet eyes as he opened them again.

His face was wet. He would have panicked, but his mind could focus enough to tell him that he was not bleeding. No, tears had begun to stream down his face, a mixture of the grief and torment that struck him.

'_Anything' _he told to the magic flooding his body and mind. _'Take anything you need from me, just bring him back.' _There had been no vocal response, but he seemed to know what it was that would be required in exchange for Gilbert's life. Roderich would pay the price though; he had already resolved as much.

Able to halt the magic for a few final moments, he dialed the number on his phone with trembling fingers. He set the cool piece to his ear, listening as a gruff voice on the other end answered. "Ludwig here. "

"Ludwig… Gilbert," Roderich breathed. He felt a contraction in his own chest and the phone clattered to the ground once more. Unable to hold himself up, he fell back, sending himself and the piano stool crashing to the ground.

The price for bestowing life onto another was to yield one's own.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I received this prompt a while ago in my tumblr askbox and decided to finally practice some angst rather than my usual fluff. I extend my deepest thanks to my editor and mentor for this fic, tumblr's smileinthedark.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

Gilbert heard a monotonous beeping in the distance. He focused on the rhythm to pull himself back into cold reality. When he returned, he found his whole body to be stiff and aching. Fighting against heavy lids, he opened his eyes with a groan.

An off-white curtain circled his bed. The scent of antiseptics flooded his senses and burned the inside of his nose. Sitting up, he noticed a white hospital gown as the sheets slid down. Lifting his head up with the sound of the curtains parting, he saw the shocked azure eyes of his younger brother. Ludwig opened his mouth, but before he could call for a nurse as Gilbert predicted he would, the albino cut him off. "Y'know, I never thought heaven would get cable," he mused, pointing out the television someone had turned on.

"Don't joke like that," Ludwig growled. Taking a second look at him, Gilbert noticed rings around his brother's eyes. He had withered and aged since last he saw him. Something had even distracted him from slicking back his hair.

Scratching the back of his head, Gilbert frowned. "How long have I been here?"

"Only two days, but no one expected you to wake up," Ludwig explained.

The albino shook his head, crimson eyes staring as though something had caught his attention in the distance. "I shouldn't have…" He had been dead if only for a short while. There were two days that he had lost to account for. He had been at Roderich's house before waking up in the hospital – Roderich.

"You come alone?" Gilbert asked as casually as he could manage.

"Elizabeta left a bit ago. She had a few more calls to make before the funeral," Ludwig muttered off hand. He stiffened upon realizing his last few words. No one had even told Gilbert yet.

He stared at Ludwig dumbfounded. Gilbert had not died so whose funeral were they preparing for? As a thought hit him, his stomach dropped. "Where is he?"

"What do you-?"

Gilbert cut him off with a growl, "You know who I mean. Where is he?"

Hanging his head, Ludwig sighed. "He called me two days ago. All he said was your name before he stopped speaking. I had no idea what to think so I drove to Austria. You were unconscious on the floor…"

"And Roderich?"

As always, Ludwig could keep his usual stern expression, but Gilbert watched as he forced himself to close his eyes. The stress of the situation had taken its toll. "Dead. The paramedics said it was cardiac arrest."

His breath halted in his throat as his brain attempted to process the information that he had just been given. He shook his head, slowly at first, before vehemently denying the possibility. "Nations don't just die, Ludwig!" As long as there were people to represent, a nation very rarely died without reason and the last time they had been together, Roderich had been in perfect health.

"I know that!" Ludwig shouted back. He inhaled to regain his composure. "None of us know what to think… All we know is that we've lost a friend. I'm sorry, Gilbert. I can't tell you more than that."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Gilbert was practically screaming now. "Ludwig, sorry doesn't cut it. I don't know what he did… But I'm the one who should be dead, not him. That idiot didn't even think about what would happen and he left me here."

The younger brother had never been skilled in social matters, especially not those of the heart, however, he tried to comfort his brother and he reached a hand out meaning to set it on his shoulder. "Gilbert, I…"

"When can I leave here?" Gilbert asked, voice having the same edge from before without the volume. He crossed his arms.

Pulling his hand back, Ludwig stared at his brother, stern expression having returned. If he wanted to be hostile toward him while he accepted the truth, the least he could do was be understanding of his brother's pain. It had gone unannounced that Gilbert was likely to take it the hardest. "Tomorrow, I believe."

"…When is it?"

Ludwig knit his brows together. "When is what?"

Gilbert's eyes fell on his lap. His fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles turning white. He did not lift his head as he uttered one accusing word, "Ludwig."

"The funeral? …it's in two days."

After a nod, Gilbert shifted under his covers then, rolling over on his side to hide his face. Ludwig granted him his wish for privacy. He slipped out of the room for the time being. There was work for him yet as well.

When he returned after a phone call with Elizabeta, one that extended as she began to sob – having finally been defeated by the emotional stress – and a short nap to lessen his exhaustion, he found the hospital bed empty. He could have easily been exploring the hospital, but he knew his brother better than to naively think as much. Ludwig cursed. "Nurse!" he called. A woman came running and after he explained the situation to her, he left as quickly as she had come.

Jogging down the front stairs of the building, Ludwig bolted toward the parking lot only to find that his car was missing. Damn him, Gilbert must have signed himself out. No wonder the nurse had seemed confused earlier. His brother would not venture far though and Ludwig already knew the one place that he would go.

* * *

After speeding down the road in his brother's car, the only real calm action Gilbert took was venturing through the yard of the house he had parked in front of to go searching for the key that the owner had hidden in a lawn ornament outside despite the rain. Lifting the flower up, he retrieved the key before using it to open the door.

Storming inside, he knocked a lamp to the floor, successfully shattering the light bulb and the glass shade, both of which scattered across the floor. He continued through the house wreaking havoc as an emotional whirlwind as though the tantrum might summon Roderich. Gilbert traveled through every room as though expecting to find him hiding somewhere. Books were pulled and brushed off shelves. Drawers were pulled out and then overturned, their contents spilling onto the floor. He checked the kitchen, living room, and even the garden. Gilbert raked through the bathroom, bypassing the bedroom.

Finally, his wrath descended upon the music room. He tore sheets of music out of drawers, throwing them up into the air before they descended to the floor. Gilbert swept instrument cases to the ground with a chorus of thuds and clatters. Grabbing the curtains, he tugged them hard, pulling them from the rung and tearing one down the middle. Lightening relieved the darkness that had filled the room as the lights had never been turned on and a loud clap of thunder soon followed the flash. The nation was crying for its lost avatar.

Roaring in his frustration, Gilbert turned toward the piano. Ruthless fingers slammed down on the keys and the instrument screamed once more. The smashing was needless though, hurting him more than it. He crumpled to his knees before turning to see that the piano stool had been flipped over, but not of his own doing. If that had remained the same, what else had gone untouched? Perhaps he could use what he found to piece together what had happened.

Rushing out of the room, he pushed open the door to Roderich's bedroom. Breath caught in his throat as he looked at the unmade bed. Slowly, deliberately, he approached it before flopping on it. He curled up, burying his face against his lover's pillow. Inhaling, he could smell hints of lavender and the coffee Roderich always drank. Lavender had always been his favorite scent even if the Edelweiss was his favorite flower.

Playing absently with a string on a bed sheet, he listened to another crack of thunder. Gilbert curled in on himself, almost whimpering. He hated storms, feared them. Usually Roderich comforted him, but he was gone. The thought dawned on Gilbert and he shrunk into a tighter ball and went back to playing with the string. He numbed his mind using the simple task before falling asleep. However, before he slipped out of consciousness, he swore he heard a few stray notes from the piano drift into the room, but the pianist was dead. The instrument would never sing again.

A rough shake of his shoulder roused Gilbert a few hours later. Peeking through a half-open crimson, he spotted Ludwig once again. "Stop shaking," he grumbled. Shifting, Gilbert sat up. "How'd you get here?" he asked. He had taken the car and it was too long a walk.

"Feliciano, he drove me here," Ludwig explained courtly. Had he asked anyone else, it may have taken him longer. He risked life and limb for speed.

"Oh…" The Prussian never asked how Ludwig knew where he had fled. Thunder cracked and Gilbert winced in discomfort, setting a hand to his head.

Knitting his brows together, Ludwig stared as though waiting for an explanation. Gilbert had never told his brother about his fear of storms, and while he would have preferred Ludwig not know, he could not stop himself from ducking after the next bolt sounded. The pillow he had been laying on was pressed tightly against his ears. His brother sat next to him before setting an awkward hand on his back. He smoothed it there, turning his head to stare at the raindrops as they trailed down the window.

"I'll leave you alone. Feliciano and I are going out to dinner. I can bring you something if you want," he explained. Gilbert shook his head. "Alright, once we come back, I'm taking you home. We'll come back for the funeral and then Elizabeta and I are going to go through some of his things. You're welcome to help. Whatever no one wants will be donated somewhere depending on the age and condition." Aside from a trembling, Gilbert had stilled, giving no sign that he had heard a word. Ludwig could only hope that he had listened as he headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Fumbling fingers worked with his black tie as he put on the accent of his suit. He sighed, letting it hang around his neck. Venturing upstairs, Gilbert removed the tie all together and set it on the railing. "Are you ready?" Ludwig asked a he tucked a slip of paper into his pocket.

With a nod, he replied, "As ready as I'll ever be for a funeral, Lud."

The car ride proceeded in utter silence, broken only by the rain on the windshield as they entered Austria. No thunder today or maybe Gilbert found a way to ignore it; he honestly did not know or care either way.

As they approached the destined church, they spotted the long sleek vehicle carrying the casket. Ludwig tailed it the rest of the way. As they parked and climbed out, other nations left their cars, all of them dressed in black. No one questioned as they all followed the casket in as it was taken into the church. Ludwig and Gilbert lead the line, but they had all been Roderich's family.

Before the mass started, a few condolences were offered to Ludwig and Gilbert, the last two to have contact with him. Elizabeta presented the two men with a bouquet of red carnations, a flower meant to express her condolences. She looked prepared to weep before the preacher even began and as such, Gilbert took one flower from the bouquet and tucked it behind her ear. She did her best to smile at him, tears beading in her eyes before she embraced him. He took comfort in the gesture before they both seated themselves.

Despite his efforts to stay attentive, Gilbert could not retain a single detail. He stared past the preacher at the casket that sat behind him. The funeral mass continued even when he remained stationary. He might have heard the 23 Psalm, but perhaps he had thought that up on his own. In his life time, the Prussian had been forced to attend so many funerals that they all seemed to blend together. It struck him as oddly ironic though seeing as Roderich had lost his taste for religion long ago.

Sitting still was making him antsy. It did cross Gilbert's mind once to pray for guidance or the will to make it through the service. All of it seemed unreal though. He half expected Roderich to be sitting among the crying viewers and for the truth to be that he, himself was the one lying in the casket. His knuckles curled around the flowers and he glanced at them before standing up.

"Can I say something?" Gilbert asked. Flabbergasted, the preacher stared at him before nodding and stepping aside. Taking the few strides that it took him from his pew to the front, Gilbert approached the casket before turning around to face his friends and family.

"Roderich Edelstein was an ass. He was a haughty, prissy, controlling, and beautiful individual. Yeah, he was a bit of a nag and hell, if he saw me up here, he'd be screaming at me to sit down. But…"

Then, for the first time since he had woken up, he faltered, a wave of sadness washing over him, one that was quickly replaced with the same rage from days earlier.

"No, there is no but. He was an ass and that's really all there was to it. He shouldn't have died when he had. I should have and for the life of me, I don't know what he did to save me." It was then that he seemed to stop addressing the crowd and start addressing Roderich instead.

"I bet you're happy, aren't you, priss? I'm here just like you wanted. Well, guess what? You forgot to think of the consequences, moron. You always called me that… You were too damn selfless to realize that you were leaving all of these people behind. Then again, you always thought they berated you behind your back, that none of them cared about you. You thought they had reason to as though everything had been your fault. You're so stupid. I hope you're happy because in trying to save me, you've given me an eternity to grieve for you, you damn aristocrat. I honestly hope you go to hell." His hands tightened on the flowers and he stared down at them. "Remember how you always told me that you never wanted flowers. Well, I always planned on giving you some. I just never thought it would be at your funeral," he tossed the flowers down on the ground before storming out. He single handedly opened the heavy church doors, muttering furious profanities as he passed. Elizabeta stood as though to comfort him, but Ludwig set a hand to her shoulder before shaking his head, that wasn't what Gilbert needed right now. Others could only lower their heads as silence descended into the church.

* * *

The house was as Gilbert had left it days before, for the most part anyway. Gilbert saw that the glass shards from the lamp hand been cleaned up and discarded, most likely Ludwig's doing. While he had forced the door open, he bothered himself to go back and gently close it.

Soaked to the bone, he ventured upstairs to find a dry set of clothes that he had left behind. "Roderich," he called voice meek even to him. There came no answer, not that he should have expected one. He grew mute as he changed. With nothing more to say than he had at the funeral and nothing to destroy, his rage ebbed away, replaced with despair. His walk from the church to the deceased Austrian's house had drained him.

"Roderich?" Gilbert tried again. He strolled down the hall out of Roderich's bedroom where he had found some of his clothes tucked under the musician's own. "Roderich." His voice strained, nearly breaking off into a sob.

Entering the music room again, he paused in the doorway, closing his eyes as tears threatened to take form once again. Gilbert lovingly picked up each sheet of music, setting them in the proper order. He paused though, upon seeing Roderich's scribble at the top of an uncompleted piece. There were multiple ones like that. Pushing any thoughts aside, he made to set them back into the cabinet. The ones that Roderich had written were not filled under the name "Edelstein" like the rest of the music that had been filed under their composer's last name though. No, on one of the manila folders in his beautiful cursive, there was a file entitled two words, "For Gilbert".

Forgetting about the other sheets all together, he read over the ones that Roderich had written for him. He doubted that Roderich had ever meant for him to find them. A few did not actually belong and they were noted with an E in the top corner, but at the time it did not occur to him. Wet streaks cut down his cheeks as he sobbed. His shoulders shook uncontrollably and he quickly found it hard to breathe. His vision had blurred and he shut his eyes, forcing more tears down his face. He cried until he found himself hoarse, something that had only ever happened one other time, when Friedrich the Great had died.

A few notes sounded from the piano and Gilbert spun around, dropping the sheets of music. He wiped his face with a sleeve, a trail of snot following. After a sniff, he stared, watching as the piano seemed to play itself. He shook his head before fleeing the room, dismissing it as a hallucination. The piano could not play without a pianist.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Again, I would like to think my editor for allowing me to publish this next installment rather quickly. My hopes had been to publish it yesterday, the 18th, for Gilbert's birthday, but no such luck. Revising took its toll on me so it was my personal fault that it was not up sooner. (And I'm sure all of that information was unneeded, but you really don't have to read this if you don't want to.)

Unfortunately, I must inform you that the next installment may be a little late. It seems I lost my flash drive at school again and it had the last chapter on it. I am hoping that it will find its way home as it did previously, but I cannot bank on that. If all else fails, I will rewrite the last chapter with the use of the handwritten rough draft that I have.

As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

Boxes littered the house as Ludwig and Elizabeta began sorting through Roderich's possessions. As Ludwig had previously confirmed, a few items would be sent to museums under the pretense that they were from generations of Edelsteins and not a nation. All nations kept items of value from wars and other major events and, Roderich had been a pack rat. They had their work cut out for them.

Gilbert had the hardest time with the sorting. Every now and again he would attempt to help Ludwig and Elizabeta, but his progress was slow. Ludwig noticed that his brother often stopped altogether stare at something before he hurriedly stashed it away. Some things actually belonged to the albino as he had left them without meaning to. In fact, there were enough things there when they first started to assume that Gilbert had been living with the Austrian, which was not far from the truth. As the days went by, more and more of his things accumulated as he brought them from Germany to Austria; no one denied Gilbert the right to the house.

Despite his grief, his bad habits never escalated to anything intervention worthy. He had become notably lethargic though. Gilbert rarely slept, but he lazed about, laying down just about anywhere: the couch, the piano bench, Roderich's bed, the foyer floor. Elizabeta and Ludwig never bothered him as long as he was not in the way. Depending on what room they were in, his scarlet eyes would follow them as he watched the house become a skeleton, a shell of a former life that seemed to have ended decades ago. All of it unnerved Elizabeta. She had told Ludwig that it was like watching the dead on the battlefield stare at her.

The sleek wooden floor of the foyer was cool against his back as it seemed to have absorbed the cold air outside. Gilbert lay flat, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were bloodshot, framed with thick rings. Everything about him was disheveled. It was a wonder if he ever bothered with his appearance at all. His thoughts had consumed him, so much so that he did not hear the knock on the door until it grew more impatient. He expected Ludwig or Elizabeta to travel through the house to answer it, but when no one came, he sighed and eased to a stand.

Answering the door, he spotted a certain blond island nation. His chartreuse eyes widened when he spotted Gilbert and Arthur breathlessly muttered his name. Gilbert slanted his lips. "You need something, über brows?" he asked. The nickname sounded forced.

"I wanted to express my condolences. Ludwig had also called me to see if I might take the piano…" Arthur explained.

Turning around, Gilbert glanced over his shoulder. "Since Luddy and Liz are busy, I'll show you the music room. Come on." He trudged up the stairs then and head down the hall. England closed the door behind him before trailing after the Prussian.

The door swung open with a creak. Gilbert stopped beside the piano, watching as Arthur entered. The island nation approached it, lightly pressing down on one of the keys. A note traveled through the air and Gilbert almost cringed. It seemed so wrong to hear someone else play the piano in the pianist's house. "…there's something different about it," Arthur contemplated aloud.

"What?" Gilbert asked, shifting his weight as he quirked a brow.

"When I first gifted Roderich with this piano, I told him that it was very likely to hold some magic properties having been in my house. I no longer sense any hint of magic, but I do sense a presence in here," the magic user explained. He ghosted his hand over the keyboard.

"What do you mean?" All of this talk of magic had him thoroughly confused. Was England suggesting that Roderich had used magic?

Arthur sighed, able to understand the confusion, but slightly irritated that he needed to further explain. "He's not gone," he stated simply. His eyes shut. He would say nothing more on the subject. Just because he sensed a presence did not indicate that one was really there. "…who is keeping the house?"

"I am," Gilbert replied.

"Keep the piano then." There was a court nod of his head as he headed for the door. "Good day, Gilbert."

Gilbert's eyes flicked to the piano. He digested what England had said, finding it hard to believe. Everyone knew that his talk of magic was nonsense. Still, he wanted to believe that Roderich still lingered in the house and if he were anywhere, the musician would certainly be at his piano.

Sitting down, Gilbert stared at the ivories. "Is it true, Roderich? Are you still here?" He pressed a few of the keys. He paused every so often before starting up again as though trying to coax Roderich to reply somehow. When there came no response, the albino scoffed before standing up to brood elsewhere.

As he started down the hall though, he heard the sweet notes to the beginning of a sonata. Every muscle in his body froze and his breathing halted as though any sort of movement might scare the player. He strained his ears to listen to the intricate piece. There was only one person he knew who could play such a thing and in seconds he had flown back into the piano room to watch as the instrument began to play itself. "Roderich?" he breathed.

The tune stopped, slamming on a sour note and Gilbert could almost hear Roderich yelling at him for having interrupting his playing. Soon enough though, two notes sounded, a "G" followed by a "B". His face lit up and he sat down on the bench again. "I've missed you so much," he breathed as relief swallowed him. His vision stared to grow blurry, but he blinked away the tears.

No answer ever really came. When he had thought of someone possessing something, Gilbert had thought that maybe the other could speak. However, while no words were ever produced, a new song started, a chorale of sorts that if Gilbert remembered correctly would have been better suited for the organ. Johann Pachelbel's _Musicalische Sterbens-Gedancken_, Musical Thoughts on Death. He frowned. "Specs, that's not funny."

However, the chorale continued as though the music had been Roderich's apology for what he had done. It took him a majority of the song to figure out that Roderich was not trying to mock him. Gilbert smiled weakly before nodding in understanding. "I know… I know," he breathed.

For the rest of the day, he remind in the music room, not even offering Ludwig or Elizabeta a very proper goodbye as they left. Many of his days were spent in the same fashion. There were days when he did not hear the piano though. Those were the days when Gilbert tried to press the keys himself as though that might tempt Roderich to play. Roderich never played when prompted though. In fact, most of the time he was silent until just about the time when Gilbert started to mope around again.

Fewer hours came to be spent with friends and family. Gilbert should have been moving on, yet he found himself infatuated. Friends called; Gilbert refused to answer. Ludwig called and still he did not pick up.

Finally, Ludwig visited out of his own concern. He wanted to persuade his brother to socialize, but found himself unable to convince him. For the first time, Gilbert seemed genuinely glad again. Ludwig reminded him of the meeting to discuss the issue of Roderich's passing as he left. It would be held in Austria so Gilbert would not have to travel far.

He never came.

There was a murmur traveling around the long table until finally someone spoke. "Who is going to replace Roderich?" Francis asked with a frown. There was no new avatar existing for Austria or, at least none that they knew of.

"Replace him?!" Elizabeta shouted, knocking her chair to the ground as she stood. She closed in on him, meaning to lash out at him but, Romania caught her from behind and tugged her back. The Hungarian screamed at them both, more than likely cursing in her native tongue. Francis held up his hands in surrender.

"Mon chere, I simply meant that Austria needs someone. Surely you understand," he said softly. His eyes fell down to the table.

"One would have already appeared by now if there was going to be a new nation," Vash pointed out. Up until that point, he had been utterly silent. While never one to speak all too much at meetings unless it was to bring order, he seemed more solemn than usual. His sister could be found at his side holding his hand. The ribbon in her hair was black.

"Perhaps it fell to Gilbert," England chimed in. Every single head in the room turned to focus a set of eyes on him.

Slanting his lips, he explained. "He has no land currently… and he was the one with Roderich when he died."

Immediately following that statement, a din roared through the room as opinions buzzed from person to person. Everyone quieted as Germany called them all to order. "Speaking of Gilbert… how is he, Luddy?" Feliciano piped up.

Sighing, Ludwig sat and covered his face with his hands. "He won't talk to us," Antonio added, referencing himself and Francis more so than the other nations.

"He won't even talk to me… He spends all his time in the music room," Ludwig explained.

"With the piano?" Arthur asked, despite knowing the answer before it was given. Ludwig nodded and the Brit took his turn to sigh. "He won't let him go…"

"Roderich?" Elizabeta raised a brow.

"Yes, he would move on if Gilbert let him go…"

Hairs on the back of his neck rising, America glanced at England with wide eyes. "Move on – as in g-ghosts?"

"Yes, he's possessed the piano. Roderich can't move on until Gilbert does…"

Having been staring out the window up until this point, Russia took the chance to speak. "Hm, a fire engine." It was a foreboding sign of an accident yet he sounded so excited about it as if he were a child.

Bolting up, Ludwig rushed toward the window. He found the vehicle right away and he fixed his eyes on it. "Don't turn right," he breathed, thinking the worst. The moment he spoke, the truck turned down that road. A sense of dread washed over him and without even excusing himself, he burst out of the room. He pulled out his cellphone and attempted to call his brother. No answer, but Gilbert rarely answered his phone. There was no need to panic yet.

* * *

A window had broken, shattering into millions of pieces as the flaming object passed through the glass. The fire lapped at the pile of books it had fallen into and they served as the perfect kindling. In an instant, the fire seemed to spread and spread fast.

Gilbert had been listening to the piano at the time. It stopped all together though as a fire alarm in another room went off. Excusing himself, he rushed downstairs. Smoke hit his face, blinding him. He coughed and shielded his eyes before rushing upstairs away from the heat.

He dialed for an emergency as he ran to the music room. Once the call was made, Gilbert explained the situation to Roderich before doing his best to push the piano to the window. With a frown, he noted that the window was too small to fit the piano through it and the drop would destroy the instrument. It would be all too soon that the fire would come for him. Hurried notes came from the piano as though Roderich were begging with him to make the jump at the window to safety. He had not died so that Gilbert could die protecting him.

Gilbert turned toward the keyboard. "Guess your sacrifice didn't mean much. I am so sorry Roderich… No matter what I did I couldn't save you. "

It seemed like forever before the fire actually came to the top floor but it was only a few minutes, a few helpless minutes. Gilbert pushed the piano as far from the lapping blaze as he could after it had eaten through the door and burst into the room. He put himself between it and his beloved as the smoke whisked in. Smoke came to fill his lungs and as the fire lapped up, it threatened the beams of the house. There were dangerous cracks above and wincing, Gilbert tried to see the damage as he coughed. One of the beams split, descending into the room. Tears filled his eyes, attempting to protect him from damage. He crumpled before the bench, doing his best to breathe as the air was clearer there.

All his attempts to save the piano and himself were in vain. Those on the outside who came to the house never made it in time.

* * *

A gentle breeze tickled the grass and grabbed at his khaki jacket. Ludwig stared at the fresh grave and the one beside it nearly the same age. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. Another person came to his side to join him. A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned his head to spot Francis who offered him a comforting smile. "He would have loved it, mom ami…"

"I just… None of it seems real," Ludwig whispered.

"We know," Antonio called from behind them. Standing next to him was Feliciano who was sobbing loudly and Lovino who seemed near to tears himself.

After delivering another pat to his fellow nation's shoulder, France turned around to rejoin the others. "We'll be waiting at the car when you're ready."

Ludwig nodded his thanks before staring down at the flowers in his hand, blue cornflowers. His eyes floated to the older grave. A batch of edelweiss had already been laid in front of it. With the smallest of sniffles, he set down the flowers on the newer grave, the grave of his brother. "Auf Weidersehen, Bruder." And with that, he walked off from the tombstone that read simply:

"_Gilbert Beilschmidt_

_Died protecting what he loved_"

* * *

Author's Note:

I never did find my flash drive so I apologize if this was not the quality that you were expecting. The more I read over it though, the more pride I felt over my efforts. This was my first angst attempt and I feel as though it worked out rather well. More thanks to my editor as this was quite the work in progress.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


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